Everything
by RaindropsOnDeadRoses
Summary: Dean's back from Hell, and Sam still can't stop thinking it was his fault that Dean was ever gone in the first place.


_**Okay. This is just a little something to let all of you know that I do still exist, even though it's currently an existence that I'm ashamed of considering how long it's been since I've written anything. I honestly don't have any excuses, and I can't express how sorry I am. Nothing's been coming to me lately. I've been trying like hell to get out the next chapter of Unbreakable, and it just doesn't want to happen. But I'm not giving up on it. I promise. So for those of you who haven't decided to throw in the towel yet, thank you, and I will try to get it to you soon. For now, here's this.**_

_ The hellhounds tearing their way through Dean's skin weren't visible, but seeing them couldn't have possibly made Sam hate them any more than he did. The only thing he could've hated more in that moment was his own reflection, because this was his fault. It was his fault that Dean was going to Hell. If he hadn't died, Dean never would've had to make that deal. And he could've avoided it. Turning his back on Jake before being sure he wouldn't get up? Stupid move. Stupid move that could've been avoided as easily as the blink of an eye. But he let it happen. Let it happen, and now he was here, watching Dean die. But when it was over... When it was over, it wasn't over. It just started again. It was a loop. Dean's body perfectly in tact again, and then the dogs coming in and ripping him apart while Sam watched like his eyes were glued to the spot. Hearing his brother's screams of agony and pain and knowing that there was nothing that he could do. That it would never stop._

Sam woke up gasping for breath, a sheen of sweat covering his skin, for the thirteenth consecutive night in a row. He was choked, he realized, and after bringing his hands to his face, he came to the conclusion that it was from hysterically crying. Again.

"Sammy?"

And Dean was awake. Of course he was awake. Just like he'd woken up the past twelve nights that this had happened. "I'm fine," Sam assured him a little too quickly and then added, "Seriously. I'm okay. Sorry. Go back to sleep."

Dean sighed; a strained, tired sound. But not tired like he'd been deprived of rest. Tired like he'd been through too much and was just about done talking if he was going to keep being fed crap. So he didn't ask if Sam was lying. Didn't try to fight it. What he did do was roll himself to the far side of the bed and mutter, "Come here."

Sam hesitated for long enough to stop his lip from trembling and pushed back his blankets as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed to join Dean. He didn't even notice that he'd fallen until he felt his brother's strong, warm arms clasp around his back and his knees against the carpet between the two beds. He also didn't notice that he'd started crying again until he turned his head to the side and felt the water soaked into the fabric on Dean's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

Dean picked him up (Jesus Christ, how could he still do that?) and placed him on the bed before climbing back in beside him. "Shhh, baby boy. It wasn't your fault."

"No," Sam began, determined to speak through the ever-present tears. "It is. I could've kept-"

"Hey." Dean cut him off, placing a hand soothingly against his cheek. "_None _of this was your fault. Okay?"

Sam cast his eyes to the blankets, water spilling from them in quiet rivulets down his cheeks. He didn't respond.

"You have to make yourself believe me," Dean gently pleaded. "I know what you had to go through, Sammy. I know what you saw. And I'm sorry for all of it. But not sorry enough that I would take back making that deal. I needed..." He stopped, running his hand over his mouth and jaw. "I am _nothing _without you. And if I had to choose either one more year with you or a lifetime alone while you were rotting in Hell, then-"

Sam's lips were mercy against Dean's. They were peaceful silence and forgiveness and sanctuary and everything Dean couldn't provide for himself. And when Sam pulled away, the feeling lingered. And when he tilted down Dean's head and pressed his mouth against Dean's ear and promised in all the ways that he knew how that he would love him forever, Dean let himself slip just a little. And when Sam mentioned that no matter what happened, no matter where they were, no matter what was going on in their lives, Dean would always be home to him, Dean broke. It wasn't a matter of self-consent anymore. His mind was going to do what it wanted, and what it wanted was to show Sam exactly how effective his words were in getting across his message. So Dean cried, too. Slowly at first. Cautiously. And then he reminded himself that this was Sam, and that they'd agreed to no boundaries, and so the flood gates came down and Dean let Sam hold him while he sobbed and shook and felt like he was burning from the inside out solely because of all of the emotion trying to extract itself from him at one time. And while he was crying he thanked whatever gods were listening that he got to keep this, because this was Sam. And Sam was perfect, and he was beautiful, and he was light, and he was life, and he was love personified. Sam was everything.


End file.
